


Philip, Meet My Husband

by CountryDogLover



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Charity Balls are boring, M/M, alternate first meeting, and Anderson is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3136478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountryDogLover/pseuds/CountryDogLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped at a charity ball by the most innately boring person on the planet, Sherlock Holmes must think quickly to escape the conversation (before he murders the man, just to keep things interesting; be a shame to ruin good formal wear). Along comes an army doctor, who will help accomplish his plan perfectly; hopefully he'll just go along with being introduced as a stranger's husband...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philip, Meet My Husband

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been Brit-picked, so any mistakes in that regard are my bad!

Champagne glass in hand, Sherlock wandered around the crowded room, concentrating on not being bored out of his mind. He recited the periodic table twice, combing the more volatile chemicals that would make this whole debacle come to a fiery end in a hurry.

 

Mycroft was going to pay dearly for dragging him here against his will and then proceeding to ditch him. His older brother coerced (more like blackmailed) Sherlock into attending so Sherlock could try to build contacts in higher circles (Mycroft didn’t approve of his homeless network; he never could see past certain aspects to see the usefulness some people could provide), but being a part of the British government dictates that one spends his time coaxing people into conversation and opening their chequebooks. That left Sherlock on his own in a sea of people, all trying to rub elbows before breaking the arm to gain societies favour in whatever materialistic way possible.

 

Charity ball for sick kids; what a bunch of crock.

 

Behind Sherlock someone coughs in a bid to get his attention. A man with a face that closely resembles a rat with slicked back hair stood, shifting from foot to foot. Sherlock gave him his most fake smile and waited to hear what the man had to say.

 

"Hello, I'm Philip Anderson." His voice shook a bit, clearly nervous.

 

_Newly confronted his sexual identity, newly divorced from his wife and now attempting to prove to himself that he can be comfortable asking a man for his more carnal desires…_

 

Dull…

 

"Sherlock Holmes, pleasure," he introduces then takes a sip from his glass, hoping this conversation will be over quickly.

 

Obviously more comfortable after getting a response (even one as false as Sherlock’s), Rat-Face started blabbing about apparently whatever came to his small brain: the weather, which is wet and rainy as London always is, Star Wars (whatever that is), and, oh God forbid, he’s getting into personal details…

 

Sherlock needed an escape before he went from being bored to planning how most effectively silence the man forever in the most creative way possible.

 

Being a genius, Sherlock’s mind formulated several plans, calculating their likelihood to accomplish this most dire task.

 

Sherlock looked around, pretending to be looking for someone he knew. Spotting a man trying to make his way through the crowd with two glasses of champagne in one hand, while the other hand clutched a cane.

 

 _Ah, perfect…_ Sherlock knew it was time to act.

 

His target was handsome, shorter than average with close cut blonde hair (military style; recently discharged, hence the cane, although that injury is clearly psychosomatic), he might have been a few years older than Sherlock. The cane was hospital issued, so likely a newer injury, otherwise a more permanent cane would have been acquired if it had been more than six months. He had on the same black tux as every other man, and even for a rental it was worn well across broad shoulders.

 

It was now or never.

 

The man walked by, and Sherlock casually as possible looped his arm through the stranger’s.

 

"Ah honey, so glad you’re back. I'd like to introduce you to Philip Anderson, this is my husband…" As good as Sherlock is, he can’t deduce names with no data. He glanced at the man, an expectant look on his face. The stranger looked a little frightened, and not in the least bit confused (understandable when a stranger introduces oneself as a spouse), but otherwise remained calm.

 

"John Watson" he said indicating with his hands, which were full.

 

Sherlock smiled in relief(and if this time it was a tab bit more genuine than before, he didn’t pay any heed to it), thankful that this stranger was going along with this. Up close, Sherlock observed what he needed to continue then end this conversation.

 

“John here was a doctor in our very own Royal Army Medical Corp. My very own war hero; not like having him home keeps him out of the action. He assist me when he can with my own work.”

 

John looked shocked to have his background told by a complete stranger, but recovered quickly in front of their audience. “Well, tell him more about what you do, love. I know you do so love to show off,” this last bit was said pointedly.

 

“I’m a consulting detective, only one in the world, albeit it is a new job title. I help the police when it is deemed worth my time.”

 

“Not one for modesty is he,” John jested, but not with malice. Although probably average in intelligence, he must have picked up on Sherlock’s desire to escape. Turning towards Sherlock, he asked "my love, mummy is waiting for us, shall we go?"

 

"Yes, John, of course. It was nice meeting you Philip." Sherlock smiled brilliantly (and once more falsely) and followed John away from Rat Face. If he wasn’t mistaken, Sherlock could have sworn he heard Philip mumble something about the good ones are always taken.

 

How cliché.

 

"Would you mind me asking what that was all about? Or how you knew all that information about me?" John asked casually, like stranger’s claiming they were married and spewing personal facts popped out of the woodwork at all times of the day.

 

Never one to apologize Sherlock removed his arm from the soldier’s and took another close look at John. There was a bit of lipstick on his cheek, most likely from his date (there was also a slight whiff of perfume clinging to his person, but that could also just be from close contact to several of the women here). So, a handsome army doctor with a psychosomatic limp who is good in crisis and improvising.

 

Maybe Rat Face wasn’t too far off; all the good ones are taken.

 

“I appreciate you assisting me. I simply observed what I needed to in order to make the charade believable. I’ll allow you to return to your date now; have a good evening, John.” Sherlock turned to go, but John shifted, halting his progress.

 

"Wait a minute. No need to rush off. I’m here with my sister, something for her work and she couldn’t bring her own date. I was just bringing her a glass of champagne before heading out," John looked into Sherlock’s eyes, and Sherlock became mesmerized with John’s. With their new proximity, Sherlock could make out fractal galaxies present in dark blue eyes.

 

_Great, now I’m waxing poetic over stranger’s eyes. Such lovely eyes though…_

 

"Um… uh..." How embarrassing. Sherlock hasn’t stuttered or stumbled since public school.

 

"Unless you have a date or something…" John seemed a little disappointed at the prospect.

 

"Oh no, definitely no date," Sherlock managed to say, absolutely not blushing.

 

John smiled, leaving Sherlock helpless not to return one fully. “Excellent. I’m still waiting to hear how you know what you do. How about we get out of here, maybe grab a cup of coffee?” He offered his arm, questioning eyebrows raised.

 

It was completely natural for Sherlock to loop his arm through John’s and follow him out of the dreadful party and into the endless possibilities of London’s streets.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a reimagining of one of my old works of Twilight (I know, I know) fan-fiction that I felt was much better suited for John and Sherlock (everything is suited better for these two idiots). Hope you liked it, and as usual, please feel free to report any mistakes. Thanks for reading!


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